


Showing Threat

by deepdarkdrifting



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Doctor (Doctor Who), Consent Play, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Inflatable Toy, M/M, Mind Games, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Roleplay, Spanking, Top Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepdarkdrifting/pseuds/deepdarkdrifting
Summary: When it comes to wicked mind games during sex, the Doctor can dish it out with the best of them. But can he take it, when it's Jack's turn to be on top?Spoiler: Yes, but why should he have to?
Relationships: The Doctor/Jack Harkness
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Showing Threat

**Author's Note:**

> Another one from the files. It still counts as a similar Doctor/Jack flavour if they've switched places for the day, right?

_Hands on him, inescapable, chains tight on his limbs, binding him to cold stone. “You’re making a terrible mistake,” he calls into the darkness, a darkness that watches him with invisible eyes, threatens with invisible menace. He can’t see who’s done this. He can’t move, can’t reach his pocket, he can feel his sonic crushed beneath his hip against the stone but he can’t reach it and something is reaching for_ him -

With a gasping breath, the Doctor finds himself pressed to warm sheets instead of cold stone, awake in bed and safe in the TARDIS -

He is naked, and he still can’t move.

“There you are,” Jack says cheerfully as the Doctor tries to catch his breath. “Really wasn’t expecting you to stay asleep that long.” A fingertip that burns like fire slides up the crease of the Doctor’s arse; he gasps and tries to squirm away, but he can’t. Stretched out on his belly, his wrists and ankles are tied at the corners of the bed in restraints meant for _Jack_ , and that isn’t his _sonic_ hard and trapped under his hip -!

“Captain,” he says dangerously, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“Right name, wrong tone,” Jack says, and brings his hand down hard on the tender skin of the Doctor’s arse.

Completely unprepared for the pain, he spasms, muscles pulling taut with nowhere to go. If he could turn his head far enough to see, the Doctor feels like there would be a perfect handprint seared into his skin. Jack’s touch always burns but this seems so much worse. “Captain!”

“Better! Just a bit of payback.” Craning his head around to see his Captain’s face, the Doctor is just about to ask _payback for what?_ when he remembers the last time he had Jack in these restraints. And the time before that, and the times he hadn’t bothered and simply had him against the console, on the floor - at least once he may have abducted him straight from a mission briefing, and - and once, he thinks, from a lover’s bed. He hadn’t put him back where he found him that time, either. Face going up in flames, the Doctor can’t tear his eyes away from Jack’s hungry gaze. A predatory smile creeps over his face and he leans forward, hovering his hand threateningly over the Doctor’s bare skin. “Say it like you mean it, Doctor.”

“Captain,” he says, a shiver of true fear more audible than he had intended. “Please -”

Jack pats the back of his thigh, not at all reassuringly. “I won’t damage you. Much.” He brings his hand up again, and the Doctor watches, wide-eyed and helpless, as it falls with a _crack_ on the other side of his arse, lighting up nerves he didn’t even know he had and forcing a cry from him no matter how he tries to hold it in. “I think you’ll find,” Jack murmurs, leaning down to lick the Doctor’s ear, smooth a hand down his thigh, “that being quiet,” he trails his fingers in broken lines up and down the Doctor’s back, never quite setting them down where the Doctor is expecting, “won’t be an option.”

He hasn’t even _done_ anything and already the Doctor can feel his hearts racing out of control, quick breaths nearly to the point of panicked whines; he strains against his bonds, bucks under Jack’s touch, throws his head back to try to see where that tormenting hand will come down next. The trails of fire don’t fade away but build into maps, into a tapestry of flames lighting his skin as they roam over him. Jack licks his ear again and whispers words the Doctor can barely make sense of. He moans; the fingers lift away. After an endless moment of anticipation the Doctor opens his eyes, searches for his Captain.

Jack is knelt at his side, waiting patiently. “Do you remember your safe word?”

He has to think about it, but yes, he does. The Doctor nods. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"Oh, yes. But not more than you can take."

"Alright," he sighs, accepting. He doesn't _enjoy_ it like Jack does, but every once in a while… there's something about being able to experience the pain and the helplessness and the futility of struggle and yet _know_ that it will be alright in the end, that washes away some of the sting of memory, of the inevitable future. A shuddering whine breaks from his throat as fire slides down his spine, caressing each vertebra. He arches as far as he can but there’s no escape and Jack continues down, and down, and presses in against his hole clenched tight in reaction, not quite hard enough to breach him but he _will_ , he will do and the Doctor can’t stop him - 

The fingertip continues on, the Doctor’s gasps loud in the silence of the room as his balls are clamped immovably firm in Jack’s blazing grip, as he massages just hard enough to show threat.

“I got a new toy,” Jack says. The Doctor tries to focus on him and not the shudders wracking his body. He holds up an odd arrangement of tube with bulbous ends. It doesn't _look_ threatening; Jack's smile, on the other hand… "You're going to hate it. This bit," he waggles the smaller end, "goes in you. Then I squeeze this side -” he juggles it around to demonstrate without moving his other hand. The Doctor’s eyes go wide, and then wider, as the end that’s meant to go inside him inflates, and he whimpers in a rush of terror and excitement.

“That’s barbaric, Jack,” he protests, already trying to imagine what it will feel like. Watching his face avidly, Jack just squeezes the bulb again, and again, and again, until the excitement is gone and only terror remains at what _not much damage_ may entail today.

“I’ll go slow,” Jack says huskily, letting go the Doctor to palm his own cock, jutting impatiently from his lap. Groaning low and hungry, he thrusts into his hand a couple times then falls still, breathing deep. “I’ll go slow,” he repeats, but the Doctor can’t think how slow and careful torture is better than any other kind. He throws himself against his restraints, pulling hard enough his hands start to go numb, but still there’s no give, no escape, no quarter - Jack’s hand comes down hard on his arse again and he screams in shocked pain, twists his head back just in time to tense for the second blow. It doesn’t hurt less but it’s so much better to see it coming.

“Sadistic - inhumane - demonspawn -” His hands are doing something the Doctor can’t see, but given the situation he expects the violation to begin any moment, things inside him he can’t prevent, can’t control, doesn’t _want_ -! Part of him does want it, of course, and that’s the most violating thing of all. It’s already in his head. He yelps as a slick, unyielding finger forces its way inside him and is quickly replaced by the deflated end of Jack’s horrible new toy. “I don’t want it, Jack, I really don’t -” He breaks off into a pained groan as Jack pumps twice. “Not slow!”

“Just getting it settled." He tugs gently and the Doctor clenches in reflex but that just makes it feel bigger - not just feel bigger, it _is_ bigger again, forcing him open inside. It feels like nothing he’s ever known before. Jack pulls a little harder and the Doctor whimpers as a new wave of terror sweeps him. It won't take many pumps until it's too big to come out, but Jack can still _pull_ -! He doesn't dare say anything lest Jack think it a good idea - or say he does which is all the same whilst the Doctor is imprisoned here - just tries to get used to the odd feeling of fullness, one eye still on the hand that might strike skin already aflame without warning. Jack looks disgustingly satisfied.

"You dream about this," the Doctor accuses, with nothing left to do but wait for more pain. "Spend your nights thinking up creative ways to hurt me. All those -” Another pump and the Doctor buries a breathless sob in the bedclothes. As soon as he’s not looking Jack spanks him again and the sob turns into a muffled shriek. Another, and another, before the Doctor can convince his rebelling body to look, and then it does him no good because the next assault is inside him and everything is a cramping, burning misery. “It hurts,” he sobs, tears reducing him to an embarrassing sodden mess. “It hurts, Jack, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.”

“I know,” Jack says, and nips his shoulder sharply. It’s almost a relief, the bright point of pain distracting from the torment his lower body is engulfed in. Another nip toward his arm. “Have to break you down first, then we can have fun.” Another nip. “I bet if we practice, though, pretty soon you’ll be able to take five pumps just to start, no problem.”

The idea of _practicing_ this pain is enough to send the Doctor into a horrified attempt at passing out.

“None of that,” Jack admonishes, and spanks him again, not so hard but his skin feels like it’s been gone over with sandpaper and it burns like salt. The Doctor gasps and writhes and arches in futile protest, but the motion drives his hips into the bed and the rough slide of his cock against the sheets is an unexpected relief. The situation doesn’t strike him as erotic but the pressure against his prostate is enough for his body to crave that kind of release. 

Rocking his hips forward again, the Doctor moans desperately; movement makes all the pain worse, makes the pressure inside his arse so much worse, but now he’s started he isn’t sure he can stop. “Jack,” he gasps, “Jack, please, it hurts when I move but I have to move, I can’t move, please -”

“So beautiful,” his Captain says, eyes soft as he watches the Doctor twitch and struggle. He is stroking his own cock in absentminded enjoyment again and the Doctor has never envied someone their freedom of motion quite so much as he does in that moment. “All that power, all that self control. What good is it?” The back of the Doctor’s leg is awash in flames as Jack slides a hand up it, slowly, slowly; the Doctor is whimpering, whining, thrusting helplessly, pain and pleasure breaking him down a sliver at a time. “If you could see yourself, Doctor.”

Weakly, the Doctor shakes his head; then, horrified, he feels the bulb in his arse start to expand again. “No, no! No! I can’t, I can’t!” He kicks and screams and pushes and flails but he can’t stop the slow, merciless stretch, he _can’t stop it_ and the fear is overwhelming.

“You can,” Jack insists, refusing to give him any distractions at all.

It stops and the Doctor rocks forward and back, forward and back, panting and sobbing. It’s a burn on the inside now too, trying to force its way past sphincters that have never imagined letting such a thing pass, pushing further into him, stretching delicate tissues to the point of breaking. He has never aspired to anything larger than Jack’s cock fitting there, and that very infrequently. “I hate you,” he says, and then buries his face in the bed again because his voice sounds truly wrecked and there’s no reason to give his sick bastard of a lover the satisfaction.

“I know,” Jack says, voice unexpectedly gentle. There is a hissing noise and the pain draws back slightly, flames dying down to leave the world in better focus, and then in a slow implosion the pressure decreases and the relief is better than orgasm, better than freedom, better than _anything, ever_.

Mind cleansed of anything but relief, the Doctor lies still, panting, eyes unseeing.

When the bulb begins to inflate again he rolls terrified eyes toward his Captain. “Not done yet,” Jack says, reaching to brush a stray lock of hair from his face. “Relax. Count them for me. We’re going to six again.”

_No_ , the Doctor tries to say, but it sounds more like _alright_ , and he tries, he tries, to hold on to that blank relief as Jack pumps the pain back into him in a slow, steady trickle.

At three he can still barely feel it; at four he is simply full, and beginning to try to move. “Not yet,” Jack says, rubbing circles on his lower back. “You’re doing so good, Doctor. Relax, just a little longer.” By the time the Doctor counts five the cramping ache is back and the need to move is at outright war with the weight of Jack’s hand, the comfort of his voice. Without the distraction of movement the slow increase to six is riveting; he can’t even spare the attention to beg for mercy. “So good, Doctor, you did so good for me, you took that so well.” The hand on his back moves down, sliding heavy over the inflamed skin of his backside, fingertips pressing gently to shift the bulb inside. A pull, and the Doctor tenses in response; it pushes the bulb deeper into him and he groans, straining against it, no longer relaxed in the slightest as the pain ramps up in a terrible chain reaction.

“Please,” he groans, voice reduced to a painful rasp, “please, it hurts, you’re hurting me, Jack, please.”

“A little more,” Jack says, and it takes a moment for the words to make sense.

“No,” the Doctor begs, fearful and powerless, even as he can feel the hateful thing expanding again, “you’ll break me, I can’t take any more, I don’t want any more, Captain, _please_ , I don’t want any more!” He is sobbing without reserve by the time Jack counts seven for him, knowing without a doubt that no pleas he can make will turn his Captain aside but unable to stop himself. “No more, no more, no more, please, Captain, I don’t want any more.”

Both of Jack’s hands slide up his back, his arms, caressing approvingly. “I’m glad you stopped saying you _can’t_ , Doctor. We both know you can.” He climbs slowly on top of the Doctor as he shudders and thrusts, every movement a new pain; laces their fingers together, straddles his hips. His cock slides against the Doctor's arse, balls knocking gently against the tube protruding from him, jostling the bulb tearing him apart. 

It hurts urgently, but it also feels very, _very_ good, and the Doctor can't make sense of it all. Jack's warm weight pinning him is more of a reassurance than a restraint and his voice seems to slide into the Doctor's mind like warm honey, no sense to it but a simple glowing sweetness. The tears are still falling but gradually the Doctor relaxes, submitting to his Captain's will.

"So good," Jack whispers, nuzzling into his neck. "So good for me."

Eyes closed, head resting limply turned on his right ear, the Doctor begs quietly, "Please don't hurt me anymore, Captain."

"If it's that bad," Jack points out, "you know how to stop me." He licks the Doctor's ear and sets his hands on the Doctor's back, pushing himself upright and the air out of the Doctor's lungs all at once. Sitting back on his thighs, Jack is still and quiet for a moment; then his hands are setting the Doctor's backside alight again, thumbs pulling gently at his entrance. "Is it too big to come out?"

" _Yes_ ," he cries, "it's horrible, Jack, it hurts, _please_ won't you take it out?"

"Just imagine how desperate you'd be if I'd started with an enema."

Abdomen tightening involuntarily, the Doctor moans in horror. "Sick, sadistic human."

"Just for that," Jack says, and the Doctor tries to take it back.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to insult you, I don't want to hurt anymore, Jack, please, _please_ -" He wails, twisting and bucking desperately as the bulb inflates again, not nearly as slowly. “Unh,” he protests, incoherent with urgency, the noise torn straight from his diaphragm. “Ngh!”

“You want it out?” There is something dark, something wicked in his voice, but the Doctor is too far gone to worry about it. He nods frantically, an animal whine all that will come from his throat.

Jack pulls.

The Doctor screams in mindless, anguished terror.

He doesn’t hear the hiss of air, but he feels the decrease in pain and pressure and takes a gasping breath, tries to regain control of himself. Jack wouldn’t do that, of course Jack wouldn’t do that, injuries are not the point of this game. It’s a mind game, and Jack has had plenty of time to get very, very good at it. His thumbs are rubbing intimately at the Doctor again, which is anything but soothing.

“That’s all you’re getting from me. I want to see you push it out.” The Doctor whimpers. Relaxing seems impossible, right now, although Jack’s thumbs are wicked things and the loss of much of the pain has brought the Doctor’s aching cock back to the front of his awareness. “Let me see that hole stretched wide, Doctor. You can do it. You’ve been so good for me today, taking everything I’ve given you, giving me everything I wanted. Give me this, too.” 

He's never heard something so obscene, but Jack makes it sound like a prayer. Hands gradually moving up the Doctor’s back, he massages gently, and finally the Doctor’s breathing slows to deeper breaths, heartsrate falls back to something less panicked. The hands move back down, and this time when his thumbs pull at the Doctor’s entrance he does his best to relax and open up, feels the bulb inside shift and press outward. It still feels too big, but this is all on his own terms now and the fear is subsiding.

“Beautiful,” Jack murmurs encouragingly. “You’re doing so good.”

The Doctor is trying very hard not to think about what he is doing good _at_ , what exactly it is that Jack's attention is riveted on. The mortification when he pictures the scene is not so much warring with his arousal as amplifying it, which is intolerable. "Too big," he complains halfheartedly, when it feels like his skin is on the verge of tearing. Whether it is or not, he's fairly sure the only other option is giving up and although he knows Jack would not be truly disappointed in him… _he_ would be.

"You're almost done." The arc his thumbs are tracing has become alarmingly large, and just when the Doctor can feel the awful bulb slipping free there is a counter-pressure, just enough to hold it there at the point of maximum diameter. The Doctor whines, high and wordless, and pulls at his wrists in an attempt to shift away from the crisis point; but with Jack settled on his thighs he goes nowhere. He can't tense, sphincters stretched past capacity, and he can't stop the shameful whining, and he may never go back to the way he was. "So good," Jack tells him again, and it shouldn't help but it _does_ , it does. "Alright," Jack whispers, and lets the bulb slide free.

It goes all at once and the emptiness is shocking.

The Doctor lies still and dazed whilst Jack moves over him, leans over to cover him again, press him full length into the bed. "I'm not done with you yet," he whispers, breath hot in the Doctor's insensible ear. Hands at his wrists, and then he is upright again, hands under the Doctor pulling him back, not stopping at all as his cock meets no resistance until his hips are flush against the Doctor's arse. "Oh, my God," he moans, "my Doctor, oh, fuck, you’re just wrecked, aren’t you?"

It hurts, of course it hurts, the slide of skin on stretched and abused tissue; but the heat of him is cleansing, an infusion of fire. Hands slide forward to the Doctor's chest, haul him limp and unresisting upright, his head on his Captain's shoulder, and then finally, _finally_ , a hand on his cock. Nerves light up in shattering cascades through his body and with Jack's cock buried deep inside, knees stretched wide, held steady over the rock of ages that is the Fact of Jack, it only takes a few strokes to bring him off - although never has such an inadequate phrase existed. It feels more like being struck by lightning, and he should know.

He returns to awareness laid down on his side in the bed, held tight to his Captain's chest, muttered blasphemies filling his ears as Jack finds his own release in his fist. His nose is pressed to the Doctor's hair. The Doctor laughs; it comes out as a shattered sort of giggle.

Jack smiles at him as he catches his breath, strokes his face gently. "Something amusing about that ache you'll be sitting on for the next week?"

"No, not - surely not a week?"

Jack grins. "If I did my job right."

"Well. Maybe. No, just… how similar _my God_ and _my Doctor_ sound when you say it, in extremis there." Experimentally he moves his head, flicks his tongue out to lick Jack's nipple, enjoys the shiver it produces. Eyeing the tempting threads of white scattered over his lover's belly, the Doctor dismisses the idea of moving his head that far and instead reaches an unsteady hand to transfer a drop to his lips.

Jack swallows. "There's a reason for that." His eyes are huge as he watches the Doctor lick his fingers. Dipping his hand again, the Doctor raises it to Jack's lips this time; he opens his mouth obediently, lets the Doctor push fingers deep. It's too much, though, too good, too soon, and he pulls away quickly.

"Downright blasphemous, the way you handle me," he opines, attempting to shake the unwanted seriousness.

"Sinful," Jack agrees. "I'll need ever so much punishment."

Burrowing into his warm solidity, the Doctor sighs contentedly. "I'm hardly up to it at the moment. Give me a few days before we switch places, please."

Humming agreeably, Jack cleans himself off, tosses the flannel away, pulls up the duvet over them. He tightens his arm and kisses the Doctor's forehead. "You're alright, then? I didn't go too far?"

"Just far enough," the Doctor assures him. "I was terrified, but… never quite lost to it. You’re just enough of a bastard to make it really convincing."

"I am, aren’t I. Well, good, then." Jack sighs, turns to cradle him closer, safer. "I hope it helps."


End file.
